Just out of curiosity, have you ever written a song
for a US President? You have?
oh. I thought I had done something
unique but now I realize that lots
of reg'lar joes have beat me to it.
That sure sucks the wind out o'
my
sails. I was all set to start
bragging. . . but wait just
a dang minute, now!
Have you ever done it at the top of
a 70 foot ladder in high wind?
Well
now, I
guess that's different. Maybe there
is
just a little somethin' spetchel
'bout me after all! So I'm going to
tell you all about it right now,
podnas.

photograph by Patricia
O'Driscoll

I was asked
to write a song as a tribute to
President Jimmy Carter for an event
in his honor that was to be held at
an Atlanta school. I was thrilled at
the idea of writing it but I
definitely had some trepidation. I
have long loved and honored Jimmy
Carter for the life of service and
courage he's lived in the decades
after his presidency.
I
have long loved and honored Jimmy
Carter for his honesty and good will
and the way he has lived his life in
service to humanity.

I read
Jimmy's memoir, An Hour
Before Daylight,
about his boyhood in Plains and from
that book I drew much of the
inspiration and imagry I needed to
write his song. One of the things he
wrote about was the railroad that
ran past his boyhood farm house and
how he and his friend A.D. used to
walk the rails for miles. It was
there that I found my theme for the
chorus; "and
the train rolled right past our
front door, chugging like a dream a
young farm boy could not ignore.
. ."

From the
time the melody came to me, I had
two weeks to finish writing the
song. I lived with it daily. It
seemed that even when I wasn't
physically writing, my imagination
was flowing, and a high level of
creativity was going on
automatically in my spirit and mind.
I would wake up in the middle of the
night to write down words that came
in my sleep. I was writing the song
from a very different perspective
than I'd planned; I was writing as
if I
was
Jimmy. Singing as if I was living
his life. I tried to feel what he
felt and longed for and imagined.
More than anything, I could feel his
love for his precious wife,
Rosalynn. In my heart I asked that I
be able to write as purely and with
as much integrity and honor for the
two of them as I was capable of.

Every
day I'd play more of the song for
Patricia and I don't think we ever
got through those sessions without
crying. It was such a
beautiful purpose we shared and it
felt like I was being guided to
create this song to honor Jimmy
Carter. Patricia was in touch with
people at the school and they had
alerted the Carter Center in Atlanta
that a song in honor of President
Carter was coming especially for
their tribute. Somehow, Patricia and
I came to realize that they thought
this was a song I'd already written
- that it was finished and recorded.
Gulp. We didn't reveal that it was
actually being written right up
until a few days before the event.
I'm a man who takes a year to finish
many of my songs. This tight time
line was very different for me. I
scheduled the studio time and prayed
that the song would be finished in
time and that I could get a good
recording in a single afternoon. It
absolutely had to be recorded that
weekend in order to have time to get
CDs made for the tribute.

Patricia
laid out a beautiful CD booklet so
that we could present the song in an
attractive way and include lyrics
and a dedication I'd written.
Everything about it was timed to the
hour. The day after recording, I had
CDs made and overnighted them to
Patricia in Atlanta. She met up with
the officials at the school and
played them my new song - and they
loved it. Whew! They made
arrangements through his aides to
give it to Jimmy Carter through the
Carter Center. A representative from
the school visited his office at the
Carter Center and left a copy for
him that Patricia had beautifully
wrapped, with a personal letter from
me.

That's all
we know for now. I hear rumors that
Jimmy is quite the travelin' man and
we're not sure when he will actually
get to hear it. Every friend that
has heard it has said to me, "there
is no way on earth he isn't going to
be deeply moved when he hears this
song, Michael."
I hope they're right. I hope that he
hears the great gratitude and love I
feel for him and Rosalynn for what
they have done with their lives. I
know there are millions of us who
feel that way.

The title,
"Seeds
of Love",
comes from the last verse. "Children,
sow the seeds of love in all you do,
you never will regret a life that
love runs through.
. . " I feel it is what Jimmy
Carter's very life and work has
shown the world. My desire for the
future is to do a special release of
Seeds
of Love
that will benefit some of the
important causes the Carters
support, perhaps Habitat for
Humanity. Patricia and I are both
working on figuring that out and she
will be talking with the folks at
the Carter Center about it. One
thing I know for certain: this song
will also become the title song of
my upcoming album. "Seeds
of Love";
it works on so many levels and it is
what I wish for my songs to be;
seeds of love planted in hearts and
lives around the world.

Recording
"Seeds of Love" ~
Want to help with
Sponsorship or
Support?

With such a strong
and beautiful title
song completed, I am
ready now to record
an album of my new
songs with a full
band.
It is my intention
for this to be
something you will
gain from and feel
proud to be a part
of. Also, you'll
receive copies of
the album before it
is released to the
public."

There are endless
ways to do this; any
level of sponsorship
will make a
difference. As
always, I will try
to make it good for
you in creative
ways. First of all
obviously, you'll
receive the album
before anyone else
does. I will include
a list of sponsors
and acknowledgment
of their support in
the CD package. I
will also post a
page on my website
thanking all my
sponsors and posting
a link for those who
are my primary
sponsors. If you
have something that
you want to promote,
maybe you feel that
the folks who listen
to my music will be
a good audience for
you. If you have a
book or creation of
some kind, a company
or service, this
could be a way to
reach folks who you
feel will be in
alignment with what
you do.

If you're
interested in
becoming a sponsor
or in helping to
support the
recording and
release of "Seeds of
Love", you may:

I'm just putting
this out there for
those who can and
may wish to join me
in releasing a
beautiful, loving
album of melodies
and lyrics into the
world. (scroll
down to read the
lyrics of Seeds of
Love)

Thank
you so much for reading my
website rambling. I hope you are
finding something in this
springtime that causes you to
feel grateful to be alive. Don't
forget to step outside now and
breathe it all in. Let it all
remind you to be kind to
yourself.

From
old
Savannah
you
can
drive
two
hundred
miles
Or
from
Atlanta,
just
about
two
hours
time
To
the
plains
where
I
was
born
Where
my
daddy
had
a
farm
The
year
of
nineteen-twenty-four

There’s
not
an
acre
any
sweeter
on
this
earth
Than
the
land
we
ran
barefoot
in
every
summer
Me
and
A.D.
had
it
all
We’d
walk
the
rails
and
we’d
never
fall
We
lived
our
boyhoods
in
the
Georgia
sun

For
years
I’d
dream
upon
the
gleaming
silver
tracks
With
the
Seaboard
Airline
Railroad
winding
past
It
seemed
to
beckon
unto
me
Like
falling
rain
to
the
fertile
land
I
dreamed
one
day
I’d
be a
traveling
man

And
the
train
rolled
right
past
our
front
door

Chugging
like
a
dream
a
young
farm
boy
could
not
ignore
Blow
like
wind
across
the
prairie
to
the
sea
Calling
to
the
young
boy
and
the
old
man
in me

I
grew
up
and
I
became
a
Navy
man
Then
I
asked
my
lovely Rosalynn
for
her
handOf
all
the
luck
I
ever
had
And
every
blessing
that
has been
She's
the
truest
one,
oh,
my gentle
loving
friendI’d
live
it
all
with
you
if I
could
again

From
that
summer
day
in
Plains
we
said
I do
There
was
a
road
that
knew
my
name
-
and
calling,
too
First,
the
Mansion
of
the
Governor
Then
the
House
of
Gleaming
White
A
light
on
Pennsylvania
Avenue

I remember waking up on that first day I looked around the very house where Lincoln stayed And I turned to my sweet Rosalynn For we knew each other’s mind How could God dream for us such a life?

And the train rolled right past our front door Chugging like a dream a young farm boy could not ignore Blow like wind across the prairie to the sea Calling to the young boy and the old man in me

Now, over thirty years I’m blessed to live this way Around the world they open doors and call my name Build a home for some cold family Or a bridge in the Middle East The work is never done We cannot give up on peace Take another breath my friends 'Cause here we go again

Children, sow the seeds of love in all you do You never will regret a life that love runs through Put no walls around your heart Let no one tell you who you are It’ll unfold, all inside you that is gold And all your mysteries That you think you want to know Will make you smile one day When you’re growing old

And the train rolled right past our front door Chugging like a dream a young farm boy could not ignore Blow like wind across the prairie to the sea Calling to the young boy and the old man in me

Howdy
my friends,

July 29, 2011

I'm
writing you on a cloudy, gray day in
Seattle. The sun has let the clouds
shuffle the cards and I think a
number of people are beginning to
think that there is some cheatin'
going on, 'cause it's the coolest
summer anyone can recall around
here. If you are from anywhere but
the NW, you probably don't want to
hear that, since you've been sitting
in your underwear with a bowl of ice
in your lap for weeks. But on the
other hand, if you'll just close
your eyes and allow yourself to dive
into my story, you might just find
that you feel cooler even if you're
not.

I
take a lot of walks around Seattle,
urban adventure hikes I call them,
because I meander down into ravines
and over nature trails, through
alleyways and across parks, as well
as up and down many neighborhood
streets. I've been doing this since
I first moved to Seattle in the
mid-80s. There is just something
about an interesting neighborhood
that I find much more inviting than
walking the well-traveled roads. For
a long time now, whenever I'm
traveling to a new city, I want to
take a walk through it's
neighborhoods rather than to go see
the monuments, and popular "must
see" tourist destinations. I can
tell you a lot about your city if
you'll give me time to walk through
your neighborhoods.

For
years, I walked with my little fuzzy
nubbin of a dog on a leash stretched
out behind me. Bungee always went
with me, I'll bet she has walked
more miles than any Maltese in the
country. She always stretched that
20-foot leash out behind me, not
because I walked too fast for her,
but because she felt that this gave
her the most control over the
situation. I believe she thought
that if she was back where I
couldn't see her, she had more
freedom to stop and sniff. It was
untrue, but I was never able to
convince her of this, despite major
public discourse and even once, a
treatise I wrote for her benefit.
She looked at it, but I don't think
she ever really read it.

But
now Bungee is fifteen years old and
has suffered a terrible illness for
a year. She is better now and has a
sort of a life again, but she's an
old pooch now and will not likely
ever be led on a leash again in her
little lifetime. Now she rides on my
forearm everywhere we go.
Thankfully, she is only six pounds.
Even at that, when friends walk
along and ask to carry her, they
gasp at the exertion after a few
blocks. You don't think six pounds
is much to carry until you walk
holding your arm in a particular
position for a mile. I have forearms
like Popeye now, which is handy,
because a man carrying a fuzzy
little purse of a dog is not
necessarily considered manly.
Whenever I see anyone looking at me
as if I'm odd for carrying a furry
pooch, I make a point to raise one
fist before me, grip it and turn it
downward so that my forearm pops and
the stranger can easily see that I
would be a man to reckon with in an
arm wrasslin' competition. (or even
at checkers - I make a big ol'
pounding sound on the board!)

I love to exercise outdoors
anyway, but I make it a point to
"walk my dog" nearly every day. It's
such a good part of her life,
getting to look around and smell
what is in the air without ever
taking a step. I'm sure in her mind
she is finally my master. We walk up
long tall hills and I talk to her
the whole time. There are probably
people all over Seattle who have
seen "the man who carries the little
white dog, laughing and talking as
he walks." Yep, that's me, folks.
I'm the man who talks to a pooch
like she was my good friend and
equal, which she is.

You
can learn a lot caring for a living
thing who needs you. You learn about
yourself, how much you are capable
of loving and of giving all that you
can in order for a little creature
to have a good life. The truth is,
you could do this with a tree or
almost any kind of creature. It's
all about love and respect. I'll bet
somewhere there is a lady with a
snail who is her very close friend.
And she could probably tell you some
great stories about their
adventures.

In the time that
Bungee has been sick, going through
an illness I would pray no one would
ever have to endure, I learned a lot
about surrendering to what-is. About
letting go of too much data,
information, too many medical
opinions, and just breathing in and
getting centered so I could focus on
getting to the basics; what does she
need now? Can I listen so well that
I will know the best things to do
for her? I had the help of loving
friends who sometimes led me to
important decisions, but mostly, I
learned to surrender and do the best
I could do. I learned to do the
things I knew to be true and to be
open to asking questions about the
rest of it. It shouldn't surprise us
but we all have access to the inner
knowing we need in order to take the
steps we need to take in almost all
situations. It's a trust not only in
yourself, but in Life. It is the
kind of trust that says to you,
"Breathe and you will be guided -
and understand that what comes may
be to your desire or it may not be.
But all outcomes may involve love
and growth." Or something like that,
maybe my words don't do it justice.
If you have fostered trust in your
life though, you know what I mean.
And you may be able to say it
better.

This
summer I'm doing more than walking.
I'm also working on recording songs
for my next album. You can read more
about that
HERE. I am thrilled to be able
to do this. It will be my 11th
album, my 8th full-band album, and I
feel very fortunate to be allowed to
do another one. Of course, my little
pooch is in the studio whenever I'm
there. You can hear her barking on
three of my albums - something I
recorded on purpose. And probably,
on a few where I was unaware that
her little excited remarks cut
through and got recorded
accidentally. You can definitely
thank Bungee for some of the good
heartedness that turns up in my
songs. Having that kind of friend
can help you keep your heart open so
that you never quite allow it to
shut down even in the difficult
times.

I would ramble on some
more, but it's time for a hike on
the trails through shady Ravenna,
where the redwoods grow tall and the
lush ferns glisten with dew and the
creek plays music that everybody
knows. Of course, I'll be building
my forearms while I'm at it. Next
time you see me in concert I'll
probably have to have someone else
strum my guitar so I don't crush it
to smithereens.

I hope
you're well this summertime. If you
are not, if you're troubled or need
some help, write me and allow me to
send you a hopeful song and a kind
note.

Your friend with the
fuzzy little pooch, ~Michael

Oct 1, 2011

~ The
House ~

I walk outsideOn
fair weather daysAnd
turn with some shynessTo
gaze upon The HouseShe
is shedding decades of paint
Revealing her past
personalitiesDo you
remember when your mom
Dressed you in that brown
andOrange striped
sweater?And those ugly
green corduroysWith
cuffs?What if someone
made youPut those on
again For all the
neighborhood to see?Yes,
bell bottoms and allThat
is what the House goes
Through latelyThough I
mean her noEmbarrassment
Passersby now see how she
Once dressedIn blinding
mustard yellowFor almost
a decadeIn New Mexico
turquoise before thatAnd
one of her doors in hot pink
Apparently, she was A
party destination back in
the 60sOr Jerry Garcia
lived hereI know she
wishes I wouldFinish
scraping her walls and
gablesSealing all her
little gaps with caulk
And that I would just wrap
herIn some decent
clothes againI'm all for
thisFor every day I
emerge meekly fromHer
yellow/turquoise/pinkness
And nothing I wear seems
A complementPerhaps if I
could find my old
Tie-dyed tee shirtsI've
been ready toCaress
paint upon her for weeks
But her old layersThe
flakingPeeling
Sagging garments of her past
Just keep falling away
And so for two months now I
amThe ScraperThe Man
Who UndressesThe House
Wielding my shiny tools high
Upon a ladderScraping
and peeling and flicking
Colorful snowflakesInto
the yard for endless days
Three times now I've circled
The HouseEach time she
releases more memories
We're down to her lingerie
now andI'm a little
embarrassedEach wispy
layer another Surprising
glimpse into her flirty past
Finally, I am to her skin in
placesShe blushes at her
Exposure and vulnerability
So I'm hurrying now in brisk
autumnSpending every
sunny afternoon onThe
ladderGetting closer to
the dayWhen I will open
up a can Of her new
clothesAnd start to
dress her forWinter
She's more mature nowA
stately charcoal gray
More age appropriateWith
some warm cream trimI'll
just touch her with color
Here and thereOn her
front door and shutters
maybeSoon the white
haired neighbors Will
forget again the days
When she used to arrive home
Very lateLaughing,
wearing SunshineAnd
WaterfallSplashing their
whites and BrownsWith
her disheveled loveBack
in those hazy days when
There were squeaky tricycles
Red bouncy kick ballsAnd
giggling, summersaulting
childrenIn their front
yards